


mouthy, mouthy

by colferstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Boypussy, Developing Relationship, First Time, Just the Tip, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Premature Ejaculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 19:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colferstilinski/pseuds/colferstilinski
Summary: Derek raggedly ruts up, still chasing. Still coming. Eyes that have been clamped shut blinks blearily as he tries to finally look down at the swollen gland, and yep.That’s a knot.Definitely his knot.Or, A series of first time knotting situations.





	

Derek’s fourteen when he first knots up.

It’s been a hustle of a week since returning back to school. Falling back into the grinding routine with weary eyes and chicken scrawl notes. Because of it, Derek hasn’t really jerked off.

Instead, he’d been catching up with his classmates, trading baseball cards he got during the Christmas break, and swapping homework answers when the teachers aren’t looking.

It’s Friday night now.

Derek’s already got his plaid boxers kicked off to the side as soon as the bedroom door slammed shut. Having his own room definitely is a blessing in these circumstances. That, and being the only boy out of the Hale offsprings.

No overstretched hand me down clothes is also pretty sweet.

He peels off the sweat sticky tee of his back, palming at his semi chub to ease the growing tension. A shaky exhale leaves his lips, chest going hollow from the gratuitous pressure that he’s been yearning since school let out.

Derek loves rubbing one out.

It’s the best thing to happen since turning a teen. Learning that, apparently, the old, achy feeling he gets sometimes in his fattening dick can actually produce this eye-rolling pleasure. He’s been doing it for a year now. After some accidental overhearing of this greasy, pimple-faced kid called Anton.

(Also, cut Derek some slack. He’s a _werewolf_ with an acute sense of hearing. It’s not like he was actively listening in.)

( _Much_.)

Anton was boasting about how he saw _Jesus_ —in the flesh, the night before _. Twice._

The first being when his staunch Catholic mother made him sit through a traumatic movie about the birth and death of Christ. His overwhelming usage of the words ‘sickening’ and ‘fuckballs’ really showed off his story-telling skills. (Yes, this is sarcasm.)

The second was when he was tucked in bed, panting out into the night. Hard as a rock and grinding up against the lazy sleep curl of his palm.

“I had to confess my sins to Father the next day,” Anton said smugly in this high, wheezing voice. Derek was irked. “Worth it though. Went home and did it again. Fuckballs, was it good.”

So— _curious_ , Derek tried said _sin_.

(Especially since he’s not such a religious boy himself.)

Anton may be a disgusting little shit, but he was right. It felt really fucking good. Derek hasn’t stopped since.

He doesn’t do it _every day_.

He’s not a goddamn _animal._ (Ha-ha, Laura. Shut up.) But when the urge rolls in tidal waves with his somewhat on-going hopefully Alpha puberty?

Yeah, he’s going to jerk one off.

The first few times Derek did it in the shower.

He would fist his small, inexperience purpling cock. Stroked it until his hands blurred from the movement. And when he came, heartbeat pulsing and cock slit blurting thin stripes of translucent slick onto the bathroom tiles—the wet didn’t smell like much. Tasted a bit like fresh mucus, actually.

However, Derek’s wolf started to get all panicky anxious. It’s a communal bathroom in the hallway, shared with his sisters, and it’s always overlain with scents of lavender shampoo and some strand of coconut.

It gets his canines teething when there’s none of him—nothing musky, and _Derek_ , in there. The urge to mount the damn toilet seat just to mark it as _his_ also became quite an issue too.

Suffice to say, Derek moves his sinning activities to the bedroom instead.

That, and he’d like to stop burning red at the tips of his ears each time Laura twitches her nose at him. (Apparently, whatever scent his nose couldn’t catch of his. Hers could.) Times when she’s being an extra pain in the ass, probably suffering from some angsty boy shit—she’d take it out by yelling at him to clean his jizz out of the drain properly.

During _dinner_. With the whole family. Uncle Peter and Aunt Mary at the sidelines.

(Derek had defensively argued that it’s probably her own shaved pubes that clogged it up. Her face paled and she silenced up real fast. Derek walked around that weekend with his chest big and proud. Yeah, fuck you, Laura.)

So, Derek’s gotten used to jerking off on his bed.

Like right now, Derek’s spitting in his palm and smearing it over his unfolding cockhead.

He’s always been uncut, and there’s a fondness and connection he has with his hood. Derek likes how it feels when he tugs the foreskin back, a tightness that builds from the balls of his feet and draws up to his cock.

It always gets him blurting out more precome.

Derek’s always had a wet cock, though.

At one point, he’d thought that he was an omega with all that kind of slick. Not that it was something _bad_ , or _wrong_ , to be an omega. Charles, his father, is an omega, and he was brought up in a family and environment to respect and adore omegas in a familial and profound manner.

It’s not that he’s against it. It was more of Derek being confused.

He doesn’t have many close friends to talk about, y’know. Sex stuff.

Perhaps Boyd.

_Maybe._

But their conversations are often limited to baseball, and how Erica’s going to be his future omega. Derek doesn’t think bringing up a topic about his penis would be in their get-together feature.

Instead, he did what he does best. To the library.

He went to the dark, supposedly tainted section of the library with gender health books about heats, ruts and identification. He learned a lot that afternoon, soaking in all that information in his quiet corner until one of the librarians walked pass him.

Her double take and concerned look after seeing the title of the book his fingers splayed across the book’s spine got him jetting home real fast. Determined not to return to the library until that lady died, _or_ —quit her job from secondhand mortification.

(Derek always was a tad dramatic.)

Now, Derek _likes_ that he gets too wet.

He’s still plenty young, balls still tight to his body and the fuzz around his crotch only beginning to darken. But it’s the knowledge that in the future, they’d drop all heavy and swollen for his omega. All of that wet that would dribble out, causing a right mess between them. Letting his sweet omega know how ready he is to nut inside them, come pooling in their omega hole until they’re all filled and bred well.

Derek’s rutting up into his ringed fist picturing that.

The omegas, always faceless, but it still does the job. Pulls the heat up to his balls, gets his hips to punch and fuck up into the air. The ache tremors low in his belly, and expands up to the labouring planes of his chest.

He has to admit, it’s never been this intense. (Must have been the cold turkey week.)

His tight balls already feel swollen with come, cock twitchy in his saliva-slick palm. Derek’s already pretty close to the edge, abdomen quivering as he double fists himself. He tightens them together, envelopes his bloodshot cock until his room fills up with the wet slaps of skin and his heavy pants.

The base of his cock starts to throb—almost like an orgasm, but _more_. It starts to swell with Derek’s hunching thrusts, temples dripping with sweat and his mouth pulled tight. A bite of oversensitivity veils over the cock slit, dribbles down to the brim of the head.

A tightness pulls around the base, skin growing and bulging as it swells and balloons into his hot, heated _hurt_. The groove of his fingers spread to accommodate the growth—gets Derek hissing from how intense it feels.

It twinges and aches, a sharp hurt that has both hands fisting the swollen base. Holds it. Wraps it tight until the yearning for pressure dissipates. It doesn’t give though, doesn’t loosen away. The compression only stokes lightning in his heavy sac—hips pumping and fucking for his orgasm, cock slippery with dribbling wet.

Derek’s asshole starts to twitch, clenches down and flutters. His abdomen trembles like the gentlest of earthquakes until he floods his _fists_ with white.

“God—god. Fuck!” Derek rasps, quick-mouthed and dirty. “Fuck me. _Oh fuck_.” His chest heaves.

The orgasm never seem to stop.

One hand goes to splay at the base of his cock, anchors there while the other making uncoordinated twists against the swell to relieve the sore tension. His cock jerks in heartbeat palpitations, pleasure and icy hurt coursing through his veins, balls still drawn with each tenacious spurt.

After ten minutes, or maybe more—Derek really isn’t keeping track of time, is he now? It does segue into a low plateau. It rises again, lightly—like a teasing draft of cold air. His cockhead still firm and all blotchy with clogged blood as he blurts more come into his already messy abdomen.

His chest is sheened with sweat and the first strands of his orgasm. The rest are filling up the dip of his shallow navel, crusting against the dark, fine hairs growing around his cock.

Derek raggedly ruts up, still chasing. _Still_ coming. Eyes that have been clamped shut blinks blearily as he tries to finally look down at the swollen gland, and _yep_.

That’s a knot.

Definitely his knot.

It hardly matches up to the pictures he’d seen in those books. It’s small, purpled with angry stretch marks and a tight hardness that is consumed with heat and _hurt_.

Alphas usually pop theirs in their late teens—figures he’d be an early bloomer. Especially after all those damned taunts Laura made about him not being of an Alpha stature. It’s like his wolf heard that shit, decided to rebel and made an early appearance.

So, his cock is pretty much giving Laura the middle finger.

 _Great_.

-

 Derek’s sixteen when he first knots up for an omega.

-

It’s his junior year when a new sophomore student gets enrolled mid-term.

The kid’s some pale, lanky omega called Stiles with soft, _soft_ hips and bruised pink mouth _always_ filled with loud opinions. His voice carries down the busy hallways, rings in Derek’s ears like it’s an early offset of chronic tinnitus.

Stiles is filled with a tiresome enthusiasm too, as he eggs on debates in the classes Derek shares with him.

Apparently, the kid’s a genius. (Something that gets his wolf go tight with pride. Yeah, not thinking about what that means just yet.)

“No, Mr. Johnston, I disagree.” Stiles hums, teething at the tip of his pen. “Using this formula will only _err_ in real life future usage. However!” And he continues to babble on for the next ten minutes. In Stiles’ own words: ‘schooling the teach’.

(Also, who the fuck uses ‘ _err_ ’ in any conversations except the _Bard_ himself.)

Derek tries to tune him out most of the time.

It doesn’t work out very well.

Now, he just gives in. Gets washed in by the lilting cadence of Stiles’ voice until he starts getting too aggressive with his debates. (Stiles would say _passionate_ , but banging one’s fist on the table for Calculus seems a little _too_ much at ten in the goddamn morning.)

Derek would also often lose himself to blankly staring at Stiles’ profile, two seats beside. The pixie curve of his nose, the way his mouth settles in a natural pout when he’s quiet—or the constellation of marks against his cheek.

It’s shit like this that makes him feel two parts frustrated that his education is being hindered by him.

That, and a small, terrifying part where he’s completely _mesmerized_ by the kid.

Derek’s never met a mouthy omega before.

All his immediate and distant cousins or relatives who are omegas often shirk away from the attention. They’d glow under their respective alpha or beta partners’ watch— _sure_ , but never others. They never seemed to like the focus to be on them.

It used to confuse Derek when he was younger. He would tug at his mom’s skirt with questions why Uncle Jace doesn’t want to play with him. He always got tutted on the nose until he simply accepted it as a norm.

The very existence of Stiles disproves that every week before lunch.

Watching Stiles pull a class of _thirty_ eyes on him. _Demanding_ an adult beta to listen to him, as though he wouldn’t stand for that filthy omega complex everyone has—all upturned nose and snobbery. Derek usually gets a little hard up in class.

He never does anything about it.

Simply a mild attraction to an omega.

It _happens_. He’s an Alpha. It’s his biological _imperative_.

Until today.

There’s something about Stiles— _different_ , a note in his scent that made Derek’s nose twitch.

He smelt like sunshine, all heated and floaty with feel-good pheromones that got Derek all squirmy and giddy trying to chase it with deep inhales. Has got him wetting the front of his boxers, all sticky with uncontained blurts of precome like he’s thirteen and _panting_ into his pillows while blowing a load.

Derek receives a few odd glances from his classmates, pheromones pumping out distress and arousal. He glares back at all of them, individually, until they feel intimidated.

(Hey, the last two years and baseball has done him some good. He’s grown into his ears and shoulders. The frame of his chest bulking up from pull-ups, coupled with the thick, wiry dark hairs covering his forearms and legs.

He’s _grown_ into an Alpha.)

Whatever. Sometimes the death and gloom helps, _Laura._ Especially in social situations wherein Derek’s not feeling too peaky.

-

The house is vacant when Derek gets ( _rushes_ ) home.

There’s a note tacked on the refrigerator by his mom. It reads that she’s gone out for a picnic play date with Cora (his younger sister), that they’ll be home before Charles comes back from work. There’s some messy crayon doodle at the bottom by Cora which Derek tries to be endeared about, even though he’s pretty sure the dog is decapitated in the drawing.

But, he’s _thrilled_ by the information.

He never gets the house to himself. Which limits the time for irresponsible teenage things. Such as putting off chores to jerk off. It’s also difficult doing that too since he lives in a house full of sharp noses and ears.

It gets infuriating some days trying to rub one out when he’s all impatient arousal and fattening dick. That, and trying to shove his sheets into the washing without anyone noticing is mission impossible.

Sometimes, Derek has to run out into the preserve just to cool the ease.

He’s as much one with nature now, come seeping deep into the earth multiple times. Derek’s pretty sure his load has provided nutrients for many budding trees and wild bushes.

With the house empty, Derek’s managed to get completely disrobed in less than five minutes and lazily fisting his cock to chub up, already darkening with blood. He clambers onto his bed, enjoying the heavy swing of his cock and balls.

Too soon, he’s leaking wet and hips thrusting forward slightly.

Wiping off the sweat already collecting on his forehead with the back of his hand, Derek then gets on his knees. He plants both of his hands under him into a tight, coiled fist—a makeshift omega cunt for his cock to sink into.

A low, shaky groan gusts out as he slowly slides in.

The first few hunching thrusts are shaky and slow. Palms wetting with precome and clammy sweat. With each rut, his foreskin pulls back and then folds back onto the sensitive plush of his cockhead.

As he gradually increase the pace of his fucks, his cock veins start to furiously twitch.

Usually, Derek gets off to some faceless omega. He doesn’t rely too much on porn, not when his mind is a fodder by itself. But today, it slowly morphs into a vivid fantasy of Stiles—all pink and mouthy under him, chest pale and dotting with beauty constellations.

If Derek concentrates enough, he can still taste the lingering waft of Stiles’ scent at the back of his throat. It clings to him like heat fumes, all sweet cinnamon and musty slick—spins him wild, and gets those embarrassing, chesty growl escaping his lips before he could catch them.

He imagines how it’d be between them. Their dynamic.

Maybe it’d be a little too hot and harsh.

Derek’s rough, callous hands from sports, cupping Stiles’ ass—feeling the bounce under his giving fingers. Perhaps Stiles would be pliant and soft in bed, cunt up while Derek drives his cock into that sweet, slick hole.

Other times, and just the thought of it gets Derek’s breaths _pacing_ , it’d be quiet and slow.

On his bed, the sheets already a mess with sweat and slick—moonlight cascading over Stiles’ luminescent skin as he slowly bones the heat out of Stiles.

Tears and perspiration would wet Stiles’ ruddy cheeks, and Derek would be there, kitten licking them while he dicks into Stiles. His hands would press and dig into the freckles dotting against his thighs and hips, feeling the grooves of bodies as they meld into each other—stringing tunes to make Stiles’ body _sing_ for him.

It makes Derek’s balls sore and _aching_ with the urgency to come. He pistons hic cock into his fist cunt, tightening the shallow hole, cockhead bumping into the mattress. A guttural groan gets punched out from his chest due to the added pressure surrounding his dick.

 _God_ —he wants to fuck Stiles.

Fuck him quiet, and then continue to _fuck_ him up until he’s blabbering onto Derek’s sheets for more, more— _more._ Derek starts knotting up in his fist, ass clenched as he drives his cock deeper, hips brutally thrusting until he’s completely locked in his hands, wetting his sheets with white and yearning.

-

Derek’s chatting with Boyd during their lunch period about the upcoming weekend.

It’s going to contain a shit ton of Overwatch before they tune in for the baseball game between the Mets and White Sox. It’ll be really nice too, especially since Boyd started properly courting Erica as his omega, and hasn’t gotten much free time during the weekends to hand with Derek anymore.

(Not that he’s _bitter._ Well, not _much_ , anyway.)

That’s when Stiles plops his tray of food on their table. It startles them slightly.

“Derek, right?” Stiles asks, voice muffled due to the slice of bread hanging lopsidedly from his mouth.

Derek looks up at him, frowning—a tad confused. Maybe also some parts nervous, because Stiles. He glances over at Boyd who gives him a stoic shrug, and a silent ‘hey, that’s not _my_ omega’ look. As if Derek would allow the non-verbal insinuation that Stiles is his.

_Yet._

Always yet.

Stiles chuckles, eyes bright as he finishes chewing. “’scuse me, where’s my manners. Um. I’m Stiles?” He offers, quietly helplessly. “We’re in the same Calculus class? Uh. Front row buddies, eh?”

“Right,” Derek replies cooly.

(Shut the fuck up, Boyd. He’s not panicking. Hales do not panic. Well, most Hales do not panic. Derek gets _distressed_ , sometimes. No, it’s not the same fucking thing. Shit.)

There’s a long pause between the three of them. Stiles flicking careful glances between him and Boyd as he waits for some additional confirmation of his existence. He’s even hovering over the seat, getting flushed by the second.

“Uh,” Stiles starts awkwardly. He releases a weak laughter. “Is it alright if I sat here? My usual spot’s taken up by some band members. Something about me disrupting the _zen_ of their instrumental minds. Like, wow, _rude_.”

“Right,” Derek repeats, internally wincing.

Boyd’s at his peripheral mocking him for his foot in mouth. Derek feels attacked—especially since he was the one who told Boyd about Stiles. Well, not the explicit parts, at least.

Only that there’s an frustrating omega in his Calculus class that he’s been sort of interested in. Erica wagged her eyebrows at that, slurred out a slow—he assumed sensual: “How _naughty_ (knotty) of you, Derek.” (He hates her with a thousand glaring suns.)

Derek take a sharp breath, unblinking. “Shit. I mean, yeah. We’ve got, um—room.” He gestures at Stiles to take a seat. “It’s all cool. Sorry about your table.”

Stiles shrugs, eyes going light with mirth again. Thank fuck. “Nah, it’s okay. Not a huge loss anyway.”

Derek smirks, getting his bearings back. That and maybe mentally scheduling a meltdown after lunch helped. “The asshole to my right is Vernon. Junior year, too.”

Boyd rolls his eyes, turns to Stiles with a nod. “Boyd’s a good enough. Nobody calls me Vernon except me ma, and apparently shitheads.” So, karma is a just thing, because he continues with a shit eating grin. “You’re the new transfer student, aren’t you? _Derek’s_ mentioned you a bit.”

“Oh?” An antsy look veils over Stiles but gets quickly replaced with barely contained amusement. “Did he? That’s nice of you Derek.”

The way Stiles says his name, voice delicate but with an underlying bravado of saying an Alpha’s name, and the barest emphasis on the ‘k’. A thrill runs up Derek’s spine as he tries not to think how Stiles would moan his name.

Not the best time.

Stiles continues, “It really is. Yeah, new kid here.” He says. “I haven’t made much friends since transferring here. A few hi-byes, of course. Got to know a few nice guys too. Uh, this guy—Scott? Showed me around my first few days here.”

Intrigued, Derek blurts out, “McCall?”

There’s a few Scotts in Beacon Hills High but most of them are seniors—and that’s just. Not settling well with Derek’s wolf.

Stiles nods animatedly, cheeks pink as he smiles. “Yeah! He’s really cool, and his mom bakes the best cookies. Here I thought freshmen fifteen is only applicable in college.” He pats his tummy, rumbling on about the soft pudge that’s starting to take shape.

Derek’s eyes twitches. He’s pretty sure the veins on his neck are popping too, and if he doesn’t restrain himself, he’d probably be whining out pathetic noises.

“Scott’s a good kid,” Derek notes instead, throat tight. Boyd looks like he’s about to choke on his silent laughter. Derek’s going to murder him after this. “Made the baseball team. Boyd was actually the one who got him the in vote.” He glances up at Boyd, remembering how he only wanted Scott in so he could size him up since Erica was _sort of_ curious about him. “Got a good future on his throws.”

“Atta boy, Scottie!” Stiles laughs brightly. “I assume you guys are on the team too?”

“Since the sophomore tryouts, yeah.” Boyd chimes in.

“Wow,” Stile exhales, interest piquing in his voice. “I’ve actually been meaning to try out some sports. Uh, not sure if any of the teams are taking anyone mid-term, but it’d be fun. I did lacrosse in my old school.” He snorts, eyes twinkling. “Well—I benched. But, running laps can be fun.”

Derek gives Stiles a short once over. The kid’s wearing flannel but it doesn’t do much at hiding his omega stature. The gentle slope of Stiles’ shoulders, tapering off to a small waist and out into soft hips. They’ve already got two omegas on the team, but none of them share a similar build to Stiles. They’re soft all around, thick thighs and supple arms with the barest of definition due to their team’s workouts.

But Stiles? There’s strength under the suppleness, all defiant and attention grabbing like his personality.

“Lacrosse’s a dying sport here,” Derek tells dryly. It really is. “Baseball is where it’s at. You’ve got good shoulders for our team, though.” He pauses and glares at Boyd because his steadfast snickering is pissing him off.

God, why does he have assholes for friends. (Odd wording, but fact.)

“Hey,” Derek prompts gently at Stiles. “Why don’t you come try out this week? I’m sure Coach would take you up. I’ll even put in a good word for you.”

“You’d do that?” Stiles asks, eyes wide with bewilderment. “But—you don’t even _know_ me! I mean, I could be shit for all you know!” His voice raises high with alarm. “I mean, I _am_ thankful for that. But, dude. There _is_ a reason why I benched for lacrosse.”

“Can’t be worse than Greenberg,” Derek shrugs, wincing as he recalls. “He almost killed Coach by flinging his bat while batting practice. We still don’t know if it’s foul play.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Stiles says, mortified.

“Yeah,” Derek grins at Stiles’ expression. It’s cute. He urges, “ _C’mon_. It’ll be fun. We needed fresh players out on the field anyway.”

Stiles considers the offer, eyes darting between him and Boyd.

“Alright, alright.” He finally says. Derek’s heart _leaps_. “I’ll be there, but! Only if you don’t pledge for me. It’ll be easier for your plausible deniability _if_ I do end up murdering someone with any equipment.”

Derek laughs lightly, freely, “Fine. It’s a deal then. Next Friday?”

“Friday, it is.” Stiles chirps. “It’s a deal date!”

-

“I can’t do it!” Stiles exclaims, hands flailing up. His cheeks are blossoming with exertion, skin sheened with perspiration while he loudly pants, a soft wheezing bubbling as he tries to gasp for breath. Derek must be truly weak-willed if he feels fond over that. “I mean, I’ve never been one to live up to omega stereotypes, but fuck man. Maybe I’m truly not cut out for sports.”

Derek’s chest aches with the sight of Stiles looking defeated. It makes something burn furiously at the tips of his fingers. Wants to pull Stiles in and wrap him in one of his old, ratty jerseys that’s too small on him now.

“Hey, no.” Derek murmurs softly, gently wraps a hand on Stiles’ elbow. He tugs them off to the side of the field. “You’re not entirely bad. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Stiles.”

Stiles scoffs, pushing away the wet, wispy parts of his fringe away from his eyes. “ _God_ , did you not see what happened?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I _was_ there. And what _I_ thought was—you’re _fast_. Our team needed a runner for the longest of time, and you know what? You’re going to be our secret weapon for this coming season, Stiles.”

“Oh yeah, I can definitely run.” Stiles shoots back, testily, tearing his gaze away from his scuffed up sneakers to Derek. They’re intense. “I’m running away from the incoming _nuke balls_ to my face. That’s not how it’s supposed to be played! I feel so—” He signs, sounding more annoyed at himself. “— _embarrassed_. I can still hear that senior’s laughter ringing in my ears.”

Derek scowls over his shoulder at Whittemore who’s doing laps with some of the team. He’s going to have a word with him after practice. Doesn’t matter if the asshole is their current team captain.

He might not have much sway being a junior—but, _maybe_ just enough, since he’s heard talks that he’s taking over Whittemore come fall.

“I’ll talk to him.” Derek says in what he hopes is an assuring tone. He lifts a hand to pat Stiles on the shoulder, as a means of comfort. As far as awkward gestures go, Derek’s pretty sure he just aced it with that.

“I know lacrosse may seem somewhat similar to baseball. It’s athletic, sure, but it requires a different mindset and physical skills. It took me some time to get used to it too when I made the switch from basketball.”

Stiles whispers, “You did?”

“Oh, _fuck yeah_.” Derek snorts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was total fucking _shit_ when I first joined the team. Don’t even know why Coach took me up, really. But he put in a lot of time in me. Really drilled me, y’know? And I got _better_. Well, at least I don’t fall on my ass trying to circle the bases anymore.”

Stiles quirks a brow, a vague grin finally making its presence after all the pouty-ness. Derek’s pretty sure his left Alpha testicle had been crying about. “ _Drilled_ , huh?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek groans weakly. Fucking menace, he is. At least he’s smiling, which is a huge improvement. He dramatically rubs at his temples, playing along. It’s flirting 101, is it not? “I did _not_ need that image in my head.”

“Such indecency from you. I’m appalled, Derek.” Stiles continues, teasing, shoulders finally straightening up from its previous slump. “I continue to be in constant amazement with every new thing I learn about you. Who’d have thought? _You._ Being into older men.”

Stiles glances over at Coach who’s yelling at the freshers to pick up their saggy asses and run like their mother just found their porn stash. Screams at them to run away from the realities of a world where their mom doesn’t know they’re into weird Hentai shit.

Yeah, their Coach can be… eccentric.

“ _Hm_ , I can see it happening.” Stiles comments offhandedly, tone cheeky.

Derek’s eyes twitches. Mouthy fuckin’ omega. “I do _not_ like older men.”

“Oh?” Stiles eggs on, brows wagging, “Maybe you should be _drilled_ more often then, huh?”

“No,” Derek growls, huddles closer until he’s caged Stiles away from his team’s nosey eyes. “I like ‘em just nice—young, but not _too_. Mouthy, fucking like those too. But definitely _not_ older.”

Stiles lets out a high airy laugh, glassy brown eye flicking between Derek’s lips and then up to his eyes. “Ha! Yep.” He stammers out, words seemingly caught at the back of his throat. “ _Totally_ see that too. Alpha big guy! Um. Ha.”

Derek exhales slowly, tensely. Well, he did just lay it on the table that Stiles is right up his knothead alley. The slow rising scents of their arousal mingles softly in the air, which they’ve taken to both blatantly ignoring it.

He takes a small step back, shrugging some of the tension drawing up in shoulders. “How ‘bout I give you some one to one mentoring?” He blurts instead. “Coach won’t be too free up with his time split with the freshers. So. I’d like to be that person for you.” He continues, it’s pretty much free-fall vomit now. “To help you out, I mean. You’d be good for the team. I just know it.”

Stiles blinks, the change of their conversation sudden. “Uh… Derek. I mean, I appreciate it.” He voices guiltily, “But, I don’t want to eat up your practice time either.”

“You won’t,” Derek convinces, heart hammering in his chest. “You could come over to my place tomorrow? Or, whenever during the weekend? I’ve got nothing on anyway.”

Stiles bites at his bottom lips, considering for a moment. Derek’s palms are sweaty as each second draws like an impending rejection. He can already feel his wolf curling up, tail tucked. “Okay.” He finally says. “Alright, that’d be really nice. Thanks, Derek.”

He shoots an appreciative smile at Derek, which gets him feeling positively _drunk_. Butterflies and all that shit. Nicholas Sparkes wasn’t lying.

“So, tomorrow?” Derek goes for a re-confirmation. “I can text you my address?”

Stiles nods.

Derek grins brightly, “Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty in, alright?”

Stiles pinks at that, squeaking out, “Yep, will do!” and then goes for a soft punch on Derek’s right shoulder. He significantly pales once he’s realized what he’d just done. “ _Oh my god_. Sorry—I wasn’t going to do that!” He looks crossly at his hand, betrayed. “They tend to grow a mind of their own sometimes.”

A small smile inches up the corner of Derek’s lips. So fucking cute. “See you tomorrow, Stiles.”

He’s walking back center field to Coach’s aggressive antics when Stile suddenly yells, with a voice that echoes, that he hasn’t given Derek his phone number. Derek tries to hide his face palm when he runs back to Stiles, tapping his number onto Stiles’ phone with fever clammy hands.

“Thanks,” Stiles laughs softly, fingers grazing over Derek’s as he retrieves his phone back. “Sorry about that, _heh_.”

Derek’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, all smirks and fist pounding Boyd until Coach decides to take that happiness and squash it by spending the next ten minutes cheesing Derek’s failure of a mating dance. Not cool.

He takes it out on Whittemore by batting balls at his shins for the remaining practice, so—worth.

-

Despite it being noon, the heat of the sun is barely noticeable. It’s the perfect weather to practice in Derek’s backyard, where it overlooks the preserve, drawing in drafts of fresh nature and leaving hollow traces of chirping birds and insects.

They’re starting with Stiles’ throws for now, working themselves up to a light sweat while getting him acquainted with the quote, unquote—nuke balls.

“You’re just warming me up to the idea of having balls pelted to my face later, aren’t you?” Stiles argues teasingly, but there’s an underlying lace of _I’m-shitting-myself_ in his voice. He makes a weak throw that strafes far right _away_ from Derek. “Ugh. If I’d known I’d be signing up for this kind of torture, on a nice Saturday afternoon—might I add: I’d be watching a Gossip Girl marathon.”

Derek raises his brows judgmentally, retrieving the ball and rolling it leisurely in the palm of his hand. “ _Everyone_ knows America’s first torture is Gilmore Girls, Stiles.” He scoffs.

Stiles cackles, eyes crinkling in a way that makes something inside of Derek flutter. “ _Fuck!_ You’re right, dude. God, I forgot all about that show.”

“This isn’t torture,” Derek responds, tutting. “ _Torture_ is when Coach makes us do suicide runs until someone either heaves their lunch out, or passes out from dehydration. It’s psychological too, because he’d still be taunting over our half dead bodies.”

Stiles tosses another weak curve ball, elbow flinging in an angle that makes Derek wince.

“Remind me why I’m trying out for the team again?” He asks matter-of-factly.

“ _Because_ ,” Derek starts, hopefully in a convincing tone. “You’re a really good runner. You’d be a good fit for the team.”

“ _Well_ ,” Stiles drawls in rebuttal. “Boyd’s got calves on him. You too. I can’t compete with that. Or the five other dudes on the team who’d probably kick my ass.” He shivers for dramatic emphasis. “Not metaphorically either. Especially that blonde yesterday.”

“Whittemore?” Derek says cuttingly, scowling. “Whittemore’s an ass. Fuck him.”

“Nah,” Stiles retorts cheekily. “Not my type.”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Derek gasps, teases—well, flirts, really. “ _Douchebags_ don’t do it for you? Aw, here I thought I stood a chance, Stiles.”

Aw yeah, all those tips from the Cosmo magazines left behind in the bathroom by Laura are paying off right now. He’s pulling out all the stops.

“Not the douchebag part—although, true.” Stiles tells, shrugging. “Just not a big fan of betas. They do try a little too hard, don’t they? Well, most of the betas _I’ve_ met do.”

Derek passes the baseball back to Stiles, fingertips brushing. The static of their skin getting Derek wounded up, all shaky exhale and stuttering heart. He laughs it off, busying his hands by wiping away the sweat collecting at his brow with the back of the collar of his tee.

“Now, now,” Derek starts, completely agreeing. “They do have to compensate for certain… areas. So,” He drawls, a helpless small grin permanently etched on his mouth as he continues to dig on. “What about omegas, huh? Are they right up your alley?”

“Nope,” Stiles chirps back, smirking.

They’re still way too close, a frozen breath’s length away, since Derek hasn’t assumed back to his original position. He can’t. There’s probably some black magic graviton work at play between them—if he’s being honest.

Stiles does continue, “Tried it once, though. Back in my old high school?” He says casually, like it’s not information that’s going to make _any_ Alpha brain go into overdrive. “It was the dynamic that wasn’t working, y’know? We’re just too needy together.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek mutters lowly. His eyes zone in at a bead of sweat trickling down the pale column of Stiles’ neck and he feels _depraved_ —wants to swipe the salty bite of it against his tongue. “I guess there’s only one left, huh?”

“Would you look at that?” Stiles quips, all smart ass and with a look that gets Derek all kinds of desperate and squirmy. “Figures, huh.”

“You like Alphas,” Derek states, and as the words leave his mouth, the forest quietens almost. Until it’s just him, Stiles and the rushing pulse of their heartbeats colliding in his eardrums. The moment between them grows, vibrating with unspoken tension and teenage false bravado.

“I like Alphas.” Stiles confirms.

The words rip themselves out, “I’m an Alpha,” Derek grits, breath staggering. His hand unconsciously goes up to grip Stiles’ elbow, digs his fingers into the shallow dip of it—anchors them in Stiles’ sweat-heat skin.

“And you like mouthy omegas,” Stiles shoots back, cheeks flushing prettily.

 _God_ , Derek wants to watch that blush travel down— _down_ to the valley of Stiles’ hipbones, to the soft heave of pubic mound where it then folds to the omega’s most intimate, dark and musty.

“I do,” Derek’s gaze locks on the way how Stiles licks his lips, wetting them with spit.

It’s not like Derek needs to pay more attention on them. He’s been captivated by them since the moment Stiles rang his front door, hands nervously tucked in his pockets. His lips are always glistening, bottom lip all rose bruised when he tugs on it with his teeth and with a pronounced cupid bow that Derek wants to gently trace with his thumb.

“I _really_ ,” Derek emphasizes, breath going shallow. “Fucking do.”

Derek closes the distance between them, presses into Stiles’ proximity until their shadows blend in one against the grasses. Stiles’ eyes go half-lidded, brown being engulfed by blackened excitement. His hands fists the back of Stiles’ shirt, fingers tensed with anticipation and need as he draws Stiles closer towards him—until their noses bump against each other.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles keens, high and breathy.

And— _that_.

That is how Derek had imagined Stiles would sound like that afternoon during lunch. After he had plopped himself down on his and Boyd table, creating a space just for himself in Derek’s life and spouting Derek’s name like it was _his_ to own—got him so frustrated with ache that he knotted up for this omega.

He can almost recall the clang of his fork when it dropped out of his hand that day as he tilts his head forward to lip against Stiles.

They spend the rest of the day kissing themselves breathless, earth and nature catching in each other’s tousled hair. Their practice with baseball quickly forgotten, instead replaced with wandering hands and necking each other until Derek gets so hard and wet that he’s certain there’s a pooling spot of precome on his dark gym shorts.

Laura barges out the back door two hours later, nasally teasing at him. Cora is beside her, singing that obnoxious kissing song (despite none of them being on a tree). Stiles hides his shy eyes and rosy lips against Derek’s chest, soft giggles escaping.

It gets Derek’s toes curling, feeling pride and arousal swirl and rumble in his chest.

Stiles is _way_ too fucking cute, and _Derek?_

Yeah, he’s so fucking goddamn _gone_ on that omega.

-

They’ve been together for almost a month when Derek first knots up in Stiles’ hand.

-

It’s not like they’ve been _purposely_ slowing things down between them—not really.

They just didn’t have the time.

Not after Stiles gets voted into the team, and their series of honeymoon dates where they got to know each other a little bit better. (Stiles’ guilty pleasure is ‘Hairspray’ and ‘High School Musical’, because apparently beta Zac Efron does something to his insides. Derek may have teased him a bit, but he was a bit gone for Jake Gyllenhaal so he doesn’t taunt _that_ much.)

That, and adjusting to the focal rise of attention towards them in school. It’s always been a thing. Alpha and omega pairings. Maybe this time it’s _Derek’s_ own experience, it’s starting to feel more intense than watching it from the sidelines.

The beta cheerleaders that have been trying to gain Derek’s attention for the better half of the starting year would throw looks of disdain at Stiles, muttering indecent slurs at the low of their breaths.

Derek reprimanded the head cheerleader, Lydia, for that.

They’ve been quiet since.

(It also helped that Lydia is Boyd’s science partner and Derek is cunning enough to threaten her grades to have a one up on her.)

She looked pretty impressed at that feat, too.

The baseball team tries to give him a low five when Stiles isn’t looking. It’s annoying and Derek scuffs them up the head whenever they do it. Fucking betas, man. Annoying shits, he swears.

But, really, it’s mostly intimidating.

Derek may be an Alpha, but he’s not big up for the public attention. He prefers less. Stiles _thrives_ in it though. He completely _relishes_ it to the point where it seems like he’s taking the piss just to further aggravate those irritating cheerleaders.

He’d pin Derek against the lockers, kiss him _breathless_ ; long, spindly fingers fisting in Derek’s hair until he’s left panting against Stiles’ neck. It’s normal now for Derek to do the boner waddle to his next class, feeling the collective weight of everyone’s stares.

Stiles always looks so smug, scent sharp with bliss and cotton candy heat, Derek could never tell him to stop.

(It’s not like Derek minds it _that_ much either. The ravaging, of course.)

However, when it’s just them? Away from the school?

It’s sweat clammy hand holding and cute gentle kisses at the back of a movie theatre. Their lips would stain with butter and red vines, and Stiles being one of those people who throws popcorn in the air because it provides _ambience_ , Derek.

Such a brat.

(Derek is so fucking _fond_.)

They’ve also done _some_ stuff.

It’s not like they both have a lot of experience in that department. Derek knows Stiles is a virgin—from how he brings it up like it’s a permanent thing. (It’s definitely not, if it’s any business of Derek’s.)

Derek’s a virgin, too. But, he’s never really looked at it as a hindrance.

So, most of the things that him and Stiles have done are with clothes on, of course.

A couple of times, it’ll be after a date and they’ve already gone past their curfew time by staying in the Derek’s beat up, second-hand car he got passed down from Laura. It’s humid breaths, low wet noises and lipped goodbyes as they dry humped feverishly.

Derek’s hands would always find themselves on the denim cloaked globes of Stiles’ ass, fingers squeezing and spreading them. Thinks how the heat of Stiles’ skin might burn him without all the layers. To have his fingers lazily dip down Stiles’ sweaty crack, down to his musty boy hole, and _lower_ —where’s it’s heated with creamy omega slick.

Other times, it’d be an innocent peck at the door that gets too explicit within seconds.

C’mon, they’re teenagers. Cut them some slack.

Usually, the Sheriff— Stiles’ dad, would open the front door to put an end to it. “Alright, break it up you two or I might have to arrest my own son for indecency.” He’d say, tongue smacking and voice gruff. “Thanks for bringing him home, Derek.”

Derek always separates too quickly, claws popping from having another Alpha challenge him gnawing at the back of his neck. It makes his eyes bleed red. But, when he pulls away to Stiles all kissed dazed, panting and neck scrubbed from Derek’s stubble—it all fades away.

It gets him so horny that he can _almost_ forget the stare down by the Sheriff in his peripheral.

Derek would go home, lock himself in his room, cock out like a complete knothead and hands creaming with white in the next heartbeat. He’s so fucking sex stupid for this omega.

Most of the times though, either Stiles or he will pull away. Their cheeks hot, eyes dark with a promise of _soon_.

-

Soon turns out to be a Sunday.

-

It’s after seven and the Sheriff will only get off his shift at ten. Derek doesn’t have an early curfew during the weekends, either. Which—gives them ample of time to squeeze in a movie on Stiles’ too small bed, where they’d make out for the better half of it until they’re all dizzy teenage arousal.

They’ve loaded up a romantic comedy that both he and Stiles have individually watched a dozen times on Netflix. They’re lying above the duvet, elbows pressed closed and ankles twined with Derek’s chin resting softly on Stiles’ messy bed hair.

It’s really nice.

But, this? Being with Stiles? Is better than nice.

Derek’s drawing gentle circles on Stiles’ wrist, loops down to his lax palms, watching the slow heave of Stiles’ chest as he breathes. The staccato of their heartbeats filling up the quiet areas of the house. He doesn’t want to say it out loud, yet.

Feels a bit too early to be saying it.

But, Derek knows.

_Mate._

He knows it in the way his wolf gets completely stupid drunk off Stiles’ soft scent. When the day hasn’t started properly, and they’re necking against each other on the lockers in an empty hallway. The thin skin behind Stiles’ ear, all sleep warm and the slightest sour note of boy sweat.

Derek always gets a little hard up pressing his nose into that area, wants his lungs to be filled with that scent even long after Stiles isn’t in his caged arms.

Knows how when Stiles tips his head back in laughter, all genuine and light. It always gets Derek’s breath catching, that he has to stare at his omega until Stiles’ looking back at him, all knowingly with fondness and tease.

“I’m so gone for you,” Derek whispers the words, folding them into a kiss against Stiles’ temple.

Stiles twists under him, looks up with those dark lashes and glittering brown eyes. Derek’s name swoons off his lips like sultry poetry, and they’re kissing. Breaths growing humid against blood rushing cheeks, hands clutching at each other’s shirts like a clash of desperation and trepidation.

Derek trails a line of kisses up Stiles’ neck, nips little marks that will be gone the morning, but loves watching the purple bloom against the pale length.

“Always making me lose my mind when I’m with you. The way you smile at me,” Derek gusts out, pressing the gentlest of kiss against the corner of Stiles’ upturned lip. “Whenever you give me just a little bit of that bratty attention, and I’m left wanting more.”

He shuffles closer to Stiles, slides a thigh in between his legs until it’s wedged close to his crotch. The movement lines his own chubbing bulge against Stiles’ side, hips hunching forward for pressure. “Or when you tease me until I’m so hard up that no matter how much I get myself off, I still can’t stop thinking about you.”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles keens, shakily.

One of Stiles’ hand fists the front of Derek’s shirt, body quivering with restlessness, and thighs squeezing every alternate heartbeat between wedged up leg.

“Yeah,” Derek rags, low and breathy. God, he’s so fucking horny, and his omega is all soft and warm lust against him. “Have I ever told you about how every time after a date, I’ve to mount my hand? Stroke myself off to the sounds you make when I kiss you? About your _hands_?”

Stiles shakes his head, glassy eyed. “You—um, you’ve thought about my hands?”

Derek picks the hands Stiles got fisted in his shirt, all white knuckles and shaking. He pulls it up against his mouth, lips it softly. “Yes.” He confirms. “Thought about where your hands have touched yourself.” He says slowly, in a trance. “Where your fingers have been. Jesus _fuck_.”

His hips jerks roughly against Stiles’ side, cock fattening up so quickly until it’s curving to the left of his inner thigh. It’s spinning his head in—just the way Stiles constantly makes him feel, all shaky and vulnerable in the best way.

“What else, Derek?” Stiles asks quietly, scent soft with nerves but overlaying it with cloying arousal and the starting bites of greasy slick perfuming between his legs. _God_.

Derek gusts out an exhale, “Always thought if you’ve played with your nipples.” He presses a kiss against his collarbone, eyes slowly glazing down to Stiles’ chest. He can almost make out the faint nubs beneath the thin tee he’s wearing. “They’re always so perky during practice. Like, you’ve rubbed them raw the previous night. Touched them until they got a bit too sensitive. Makes me want to put my mouth on them to soothe it.”

“ _Oh my god_.” Stiles grits out tensely when Derek leans down, puts his mouth around the nipple. Sucks at it through the fabric, tongues at it and lets his teeth drag until they peak in his humid mouth. “Oh my fucking _god,_ Derek.”

“Do you do that for me, baby?” Derek asks, inspects the translucent wet spot that now reveals the pink toned nub. “Do you think of me while you do it? How I won’t be able to stop staring the next day? That I’m not able to stop thinking of those perky nips during practice?” He gusts. “You do, don’t you? Get you all omega smug when I’m all dazed from them in front of the whole team? That I’m this whipped Alpha, knothead stupid for my pretty omega.”

“Fuck,” Stiles spits, shame flushing through his scent. “Yes. Yeah. Always for you.”

Derek lips at that sour note until the bratty confidence ebbs back in his touches.

“They’d be right, Stiles.” Derek tells. “I’m so fucking whipped. You have no idea how much you affect me, do you?” He thumbs at Stiles’ erected nub, feels the tight give each time he presses them in. “How when I watch the way you move your fingers—all I’m stuck thinking is if you’ve finger fucked yourself. Get them all wet with slick just so you could taste yourself.”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles hiccups, legs squeezing tight, stuttering hip jerks as he grinds himself against Derek’s thigh. It’s so fucking hot. He can feel the heat of Stiles’ sex radiating through their layers, and that fucking _scent_. All wet and boy musty.

“Do you wanna take off your pants, baby?” Derek asks softly, hopefully. They’ve never done anything without, and he doesn’t want to push Stiles too far.

Stiles doesn’t seem to mind though. Nods his head excitedly, cheeks flushing as he unlocks his tight grip against Derek’s own thigh. But—Derek spots it before Stiles.

A damp spot against the navy denim of his thigh.

“Oh fuck,” Derek curses. Stares at it like he can feel the burn of it against his skin.

Stiles, startled from popping his own jeans buttons open, traces the line of Derek’s sign and then groans, loudly. Humiliation bubbles thick in his scent, all sour and taking away the arouse headiness that Derek was drunkenly soaking in.

“God! Sorry, Derek.” Stiles blubbers. “It’s never been—I’ve never—Jesus, I’m so sorry. I can go and get the—”

“No. _No,_ baby.” Derek says, calmly soothing his palms down Stiles’ back. Cuts off the omega’s rambling with kisses. “God, you don’t even know how fucking wet I am for you right now. You don’t need to be shy. I’m leaking in my own boxers right now. It’s— _every time_ , babe.”

Stiles’ face remained impassive, eyes blank—preaching to the unconvinced.

“Fuck. Okay,” Derek starts, taking a large breath. “Remember the first time we kissed? In my backyard? And we were all messed up with grass and shit in our hair?” Stiles lightly smiles at that. “God, and my sisters teased me like they’ve never watched a romantic comedy in their fucking life?”

Stiles snorts at that, tacking on, “Teased _us_ , you mean.”

“I was trying to impress you!” Derek insists. “You laughing it off let me know that what we got wasn’t totally fucked yet. Until, we had to walk back in the house. _Fuck_ ,” He groans, burrowing it into Stiles’ hair. “I had to waddle behind Laura so you wouldn’t see I was completely soaked through.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles chuckles. “You’re lying. You were wearing basketball shorts.”

“Not lying,” Derek grins down at him, recalling. “They were old, thin—had little to no use except to cover my junk, basketball shorts, yes.”

There’s still a slight note of dubiousness in his eyes, so Derek—being a knothead he is, takes Stiles’ hand and presses down against the bulge of his jeans. Where there’s a matching spot of wet at the tip of his clothed cockhead.

“Feel that, hm?” Derek whispers. “Fucking wet for you.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Stiles breathes out, eyes wide and staring unabashedly at his hand covering Derek’s crotch. “You’re hard.”

“I am,” Derek acknowledges. “ _You’re_ always getting me hard.”

Stiles starts to jerkily palm him through his jeans with inconsistent movements. Sure, they’ve rubbed up against each other multiple times, but never directly. Never touched each other’s sex. Maybe an ass squeeze here and then, but their wandering hands never dipped below where the heat gets too much.

It’s what Stiles says next that Derek will be using it as jerking off fodder for the following week.

“Is it alright—um,” Stiles starts meekly, eyes fluttery. “To see? Wanna see your dick.”

Derek has absolutely no idea how his fingers even worked to slide his jeans off, but son he’s in his boxers. Clad in a pair of white underarmor boxers and the curve of his cock shows through obscenely, tucked to the left of his thigh—all hard and fabric damp and see-through with pre-come at the tip.

“ _God_ , Derek,” Stiles whispers, tone overwhelmed. Derek shut his eyes tightly, feeling as affected as how Stiles sounds. “Can’t believe you’re mine. Your kisses are mine. Your hands on my skin—your cock, all hard for me.”

Stiles’ hand draws in teasing loops until they’re settled against the band of his boxers, “Wanna touch you.”

“You can, baby,” Derek breathes out, eyes slowly opening as he feels Stiles’ fingers dragging a trail of heat until they enclose around the length of his cock. Stiles’ warm hand fits around the girth of it, cupping around the bulge as he soothes long, lazy strokes against it.

“God, _Stiles_ ,” Derek groans brokenly, all gritted out syllables.

“Yeah?” Stiles answers back, strokes growing in confidence with Derek’s poorly contained grunts. “Feels good? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No,” Derek spits, hips making minute twitches as he reaches out to grip Stiles’ wrist—the one jerking him off through his underwear. “Makin’ me feel like I’m about to blow a load already.”

A warm exhale from Stiles cascades against Derek’s profile once he starts moving Stiles’ hand to a rhythm that isn’t too intense—tightening his own hand so that Stiles’ fingers clench harder around his shaft.

It should be embarrassing how close he is already, but Derek would argue that he’s been at semi chub since he walked in Stiles’ home and got pushed up against the door for a fifteen minute making out session. The way Stiles’ body moved against him, grinding down against him while his back digs against the door handle.

Derek’s breaths start to quicken, going ragged and strained, toes starting to curl in as his orgasm builds. Stiles seems to be able sense it because he starts to jerk his hand quickly, just at the tip of his cockhead where the fabric is so fucking see-through—that the underwear is just a fucking hindrance now.

“God, Derek. I wanna—” Stiles spurs, voice exhilarated with arousal and excitement. “Wanna see you come for me. Will you come for me?”

Derek jerkily nods his head and he finally releases the grip of Stiles’ wrist. Instead, he fists them at the back of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him closer to him to breathe kisses against his mouth.

Stiles stops cupping his cock, though—instead flattens his palm so than he’s rubbing in circles against his cockhead. Derek’s hips are fucking up against the pressure, incoherent groans lingering in the humidity of their mouths.

“Gonna come,” Derek warns, digging his feet into the bed. “Baby, I’m gonna come.”

Stiles, unexpectedly—the little shit, fucking _stops_.

Instead, he quickly slips his hand under Derek’s boxers, and grabs at Derek’s cock. No more fabric restricting from skin to skin—his sex heated hand against the veiny girth of his dick. Derek curses _loudly_ , brokenly, while Stiles strokes his bare cock, precome slick aiding the movement, and fisting it tight—exactly the way Derek likes.

Derek fucking _knots up_ in two seconds—no gradual growth of the gland. The sensitivity bites at his balls, gets them drawing up too quickly and he’s coming like a tidal wave with Stiles fucking out the come with his wrapped fist.

“Jesus, _Stiles_ —oh my fucking _god_ ,” Derek swears gutturally, chest heaving. “ _Fuck_. I’ve fucking knotted up. You— _oh god_ , gotta hold it. Please, baby.” He pleads brokenly.

Stiles does, fist his hand tightly against the knot—fingers wrapped and clenched all the way round with sporadic releases. Derek emits these weak growls each time Stiles does it that gets swallowed into his mouth. His cock pulses hotly, freely, pooling against his crotch and dripping down to his balls.

“Oh my god,” Derek croaks, after ten minutes of coming. He’s dehydrated, throat gone hoarse, and Stiles has the brightest shit eating grin on his face. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

“The sweetest death, then, isn’t it? Stiles teases, his lips are raw and rose bruised. His upper lip’s fucked up from Derek’s scruff, along with his neck.

He’s breathtaking, and _yeah_ —it’d truly be a blessed death.

-

The first time Derek knots up twice in a day is thirty minutes later.

-

After a short cuddle and some clean up with Stiles lending Derek borrow a pair of his sweats while changing into a pair himself. His boxers are drying out on the sink, and his shirt is lazily draped on a chair because it’s got pit stains in them and he wants them dried out before the Sherriff’s home.

They’re lying on Stiles’ come musty bed, filthy with Derek’s scent, wet patches still warm to the touch. Derek offers to help change Stiles’ sheets, but gets turned down with a sheepish shrug.

“It smells like us,” Stiles says shyly. “I like it, and uh. It’d help—for later, y’know?” He says, brows wagging suggestively.

Derek snorts, “You do know I could help you out with that.”

“Now?” Stiles chokes, glancing over at the digital clock on his bedside table.

There’s still an hour and half before Stiles’ dad comes home. The movie’s long finished and Netflix’s prompting for them to play ‘Love Actually’ next. Usually they’d use this time to have a heavy make out session, but—

The air is still heavy with _more_.

It’s never going to enough now. Not after being able to taste and have Stiles in this new vibrant, sexual manner—all shy eyes and firm fingers. That fucked Derek up.

He fucking _knotted up_ for Stiles. Just having his hands wrapped around his cock for the first time—and _shit._ Derek would be ten parts amazed if he wasn’t a little embarrassed at how he’s the literal definition of a knothead.

That, and if he had any lingering doubts (he didn’t) if Stiles was his mate before, he definitely doesn’t now.

“Yeah, babe.” Derek replies. His fingers creep under the hem of Stiles’ frayed tee, splays them against the soft, warmness of his tummy. “ _Now._ I want to eat you out.”

 “ _Christ_ ,” Stiles garbles.  “You’re insatiable, aren’t you? Got a taste of _the_ Stiles and you’re all needy again. Who’s the omega now, _punk_?”

Derek raises a judgmental brow at him.

“Okay, okay!” Stiles cackles. “You’re totally the Alpha. You gotta teach me that shit. I would own that brow lift.”

“Maybe,” Derek says, teasing. “You still want to be with your insatiable Alpha, then?”

Stiles hums, eyes light with mischievous. “ _Well_ , I need to think about it. Gotta draw out the pros and cons.”

“Pros and cons,” Derek mock growls and goes to tickle at Stiles’ sides.

“No! Oh my god, Derek— _no_!” Stiles cries, flail laughing on the bed. He’s knocking his elbows and knees wildly, and Derek’s grinning as he continues to dig his fingers into the plushy give of Stiles’ stomach. “Fuck! I swear, you gotta stop right there before I kick you in the balls!”

Derek cackles, acquiesces. “Alright, alright.” His eyes crinkle as he looks down at Stiles, hair a mess and blood rushed cheeks. His eyes are wetting at the waterline, and he’s so beautiful that Derek has to lean down and kiss him for a bit.

When he lets up, Stiles mumbles against his chest, “My boyfriend is a succubus. Hashtag confirmed. I’ve won the supernatural lottery right here.”

“You little mouthy omega,” Derek bites out sharply.

He pulls Stiles’ tee up until they’re tucked against his armpits, pinches one of the nipples until they perk up under the attention. It’s fascinating to watch, how it turns from this pale pink to a purpling swell.

“You love my mouthiness.” Stiles snaps back, mouth going lax with a soft moan. “ _And_ —stop using my nipples against me, asshole.”

“I’m going to use your nipples against you until you cry uncle,” Derek retorts. “And I do. Love your mouthiness. Now, let me use _my_ mouth to eat you out.”

“Um. Maybe,” Stiles frowns and releases a frustrated sigh. “I’m a little hairy down there though, so—maybe not?”

“You think that a bit of pubes is going to turn me off?” Derek says, insulted. He never understood the concept of hairless omegas—it’s messed up. “Then you probably hate touching me then. I’ve got hair _everywhere_. On my legs. Under my arms. My balls— _ass._ ”

“That’s different,” Stiles rebuts, pinking up. “You’re an Alpha.”

“So?” Derek argues. “I don’t fucking care if you’re clean shaven or littered with hair. I’d like it both ways. Know why?” Stiles bites at his bottom lip, shaking his head. “Because you’re my omega. Mine to appreciate, and every part of you fucking either gets me horny or fond _stupid._ Do you not remember how just fifteen minutes ago I knotted up from you just _holding_ my dick?”

“Derek,” Stiles whines, in a tone that he’s never heard. It makes his wolf go all soft, glassy eyes and quiet purrs. “That was—fucking hot. I was going to fuck myself to that tonight.”

What.

“What?” Derek says weakly.

That— was not what Derek expected Stiles to say, and from Stiles’ reaction where he’s face palming himself, it seemed like the words tripped his brain to mouth filter too.

“I mean. Uh, you know.” Stiles stutters. “Like, you said that every time after a date you’d do those things? And I mean. Like, ditto?” He lets out a weak laughter.

“ _Ditto_?” Derek parrots. “You get off to thoughts of me?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, gently flicking Derek’s nose. “Duh, what the fuck. Have you not looked at a mirror recently? You’re hot shit. And we’ve been going out, so it’s not a huge leap that you started to star heavily in a lot of recent nighttime activities.”

Derek swallows thickly, “Tell me.” He hopes the desperation isn’t dripping in his voice. Actually, fuck that. He’s desperate, and Stiles should know exactly how much. “Fuck. Please tell me. Or better yet, show me. _God_ , Stiles. I’m not the succubus here, _you’re_ the damned minx. You’re going to fucking kill me.”

Stiles laughs but his eyes light up with bravado, “I mean, it’s nothing crazy.”

He takes hold of Derek’s wrist, mimicking what he did earlier with Stiles’ own, wetting his lips. “I always start with my nipples. You’re right. I’d roll them between my fingers until they’re all hard and sensitive to touch.”

Stiles guides his hand up to his chest, flushed with heat. His beauty marks contrast beautifully against the paleness of his skin. It’s breathtaking. Derek wants to map all of them with his mouth, but—another time, perhaps. Instead, he takes one of Derek’s fingers and lightly draws circles around the areola, not putting any attention to the nub just yet.

“It always turns me on the quickest.” Stiles wheezes, breath growing heavy. “The gentlest of touch.”

Derek watches the way the skin around his nipple pebbles, nub unfolding out as it grows a dark shade until they’re fully erected.

“So fucking hot,” Derek whispers trance-like, hot breath fanning against Stiles’ chest. He glances up at Stiles, for silent permission, and with a nod—he leans down, finally getting his mouth around it.

The sharp bite of sweat salts and the taste of skin gets him groaning, exhaling harshly. He suckles at it, softly and switches over to the other nipple—greedy to taste. Stiles’ grip on his wrist goes lax so he uses his hand to pay attention on the saliva slick nipple. Flicks them until Stiles is shaking under him, thighs squeezing every then and so.

Derek’s sure his mouth looks fucked out as he says, “Are you wet, baby?” His voice sounds shot too, all hoarse with keen arousal.

Stiles hums a yes into Derek’s neck.

“Wanna taste you.” Derek breaths into a kiss. “May I?” He asks although his heads are already drawing Stiles’ sweats down the curve of his ass. “God, been jerking myself raw just imagining how you’d taste.”

The sweats slide down quickly with Derek’s impatient hands. He looks down at Stiles, chest heaving and tits out, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

“Gorgeous omega.” Derek rumbles, more wolf than boy.

Stiles preens from the praise.

Derek slowly trails a path of kisses from the gentle quivering of Stiles’ stomach, the fuzz of his happy trail rubbing delightfully against his chin. His lips graze against the band of Stiles’ boxers, and _fuck_. The scent of his pussy is saturated here, all heady with that creamy omega wet.

It’s honestly taking all of Derek’s control to not dive in between those soft, pale thighs and _breathe_.

“Baby?” Derek asks, fingers snaking down the sides of Stiles’ boxers, already edging them down the jut of his hipbones. “Lift up your hips?”

Stiles does and he peels them off from his legs, although getting slightly tangled in between his knobby knees.

Derek has half a mind to safe keep the underwear in his own pocket. For later. When he’s home in bed, staring up at the ceiling with his cock jerked up and closed eyes blinding with everything he’s done with Stiles tonight.

He’s not that weak willed to his wolf’s id though, so he leaves it at the foot of the bed. He presses dry kisses against the raised skin on Stiles’ calves, draws them up to kiss and then a soft peck against his outer thigh.

“Okay?” Derek murmurs, thumb gently soothing against Stiles’ ankle.

“Yeah,” Stiles says back shakily, thighs clamped tight together. His hands are carefully positioned so that it’s lazily draped across his crotch, denying him the v-shaped view of his sex.

“Okay if I see you a bit, Stiles?”

Stiles bites at his bottom lip, all soft omega that’s got Derek finally noticing the tightness in his sweats, cock tented obscenely.

“Kiss me for a bit first?” He asks meekly, quietly.

“Of course, babe.” Derek says, already drawing himself closer to Stiles. His hands slides to cup his neck, thumb tucking behind his ear and kisses him long and drawn. All warm and wet with tongue—the way that always get Stiles melting into his touch.

Derek doesn’t ask again. He doesn’t need to.

After lipping him hotly, changing the slow pace to something heated, he shifts down to teeth at Stiles’ neck. He tongues at a mark he left earlier, down to his bare shoulders until Stiles chokes up this weak sounding mewl, hips undulating against Derek’s torso until his thighs fall open slowly.

It’s like the first spring bloom.

The scent hits him first. It’s overwhelming without any layers, has got Derek’s fangs itching to drop. All heady and sweet like it’s been dipped in caramelized syrup, but musky too. A mesh of honeyed omega and boy wet.

He kisses at Stiles’ pointed nipples, all perked pink from his mouth earlier. Then, down to his stomach where it quivers with anticipation. Derek’s looking at Stiles the entire time, who’s watching him back with half lidded eyes and mouth all cherry bruised, panting.

He finally pulls his eyes away to look at Stiles. At his intimate sex, where it folds dark and creamy.

His cunt is framed with dark tendrils of hair, not as long and unkempt as his own pubes situation, and Derek completely adores it. He’s feeling slightly overwhelmed that Stiles is trusting him with his first time—the first person to see Stiles all sex raunch, and nobody’s going to ever get this experience with Stiles.

Not if he’s in the damn picture.

His hooded clit plumps up under Derek’s gaze, purpling and twitches whenever Stiles clenches down. It’s tucked between slick lips that draws focus down to his creamy, untouched omega hole.

 _Jesus fuck_.

“Fuck,” Derek groans hoarsely, and yeah. His control is shot now. He doesn’t smash his face onto Stiles’ crotch at least. It’s a near thing though, but he definitely buries his nose into the thatch of hair, inhaling as he kisses at his pubic mound.

Stiles keens, arching up. “Please, Derek. Don’t tease.”

“Not teasing,” Derek assures, and finally draws Stiles’ clit into his mouth.

The first taste of Stiles’ sex when it first hits his tongue has got him grinding his hard up cock against the mattress, desperate to relieve the aching tension. It’s sweet, like honey, but there’s the strong after bite of sweat and skin salt.

Derek flattens his tongue against his clit then suckles it back into his mouth, teeth gently grazing against the swollen nub. Stiles makes these filthy noises that is making Derek’s wolf want to fuck him up. It’s all wet sounding and thirsty with heat.

He finally dips down where Stiles’ omega cream is drooling out of his musky petite hole. Fuck. It’s thick, saltier and Derek’s already addicted to the taste of it. Wants it more. He sharpens his tongue to lave more of it out his cunt hole.

“You can—” Stiles hiccups, fingers twisting into Derek’s hair. “—a finger.”

“Yeah?” Derek croaks, petting his clit with kitten licks. “Want me to finger you a bit while I eat you out? That what you want, baby?”

“Please,” Stiles grits, hips jerking.

One of Derek’s hands that was on the curve of Stiles’ ass, angling him so that he could eat him out in ease shift up to his inner thighs, palms at the suppleness.

“You’re so soft everywhere,” Derek groans and he has to fuck up against the mattress—just once. God, he’s pretty sure he’s going to come embarrassingly fast again. “Driving me fucking crazy.”

Derek uses his middle finger to mesh the slick of his saliva and Stiles’ creaminess around the lips of his pussy until he’s got it all wet. He wants to be tonguing at Stiles when he first dips his finger into Stiles’ hole, but his need to see his face wins out.

And it does pay off.

Stiles’ face doesn’t twist up—not at all, because Derek slips it in with a smooth slide. No hesitance. Stiles’ mouth hangs loose, a silent gasp caught before he moans haggardly, head tossed back against the pillow and body arching up into Derek’s touch.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles hisses. “So good t’ me.”

It’s tight, plush heat, velvet walls pulsing around Derek’s fingers. His cock throbs with yearning as a heated flash of wonder about how Stiles’ cunt would mouth around his cock head—how it would look like. His little hole being intruded with an Alpha cock, wanting in all brutishly until he opens up, fitting nicely in there.

Derek goes back to mouthing at his clit, fingering him where he pets for that ribbed spot in his cunt. Stiles isn’t shying away from the sounds he was holding in earlier anymore. Instead, it falls like sin—all garbled and vulgar. Stiles’ hips start to hump helplessly against his face when Derek starts to draw circles, plays a little with the little nudge of his cervix.

“God,” Stiles cries, nails digging harshly into his scalp. Derek’s never been too big on pain, but everything about this is completely doing it for him. “Derek. Please. Need more. Another, please. _Alpha_.”

“ _Jesus fuck_ ,” Derek growls, eyes bleeding red and balls tightening. He’s so fucking hard, precome already staining a damp spot on his sweat and he _can’t_. So, he elbows up so that he could reach in to take his cock out, tugs roughly on it a few times before he crawls up to kiss at Stiles. “Say that again. Please.”

Stiles moans into his mouth, the scent of his cunt mingling in their shared humidity. His thighs are back squeezing against each other and Derek doesn’t want that—not now. He puts a leg over one of Stiles, gets them spread open before he slides two of his fingers into his creamy cunt hole, wet obscene sounds filling the room as he finger fucks him.

“Say it, please.” Derek groans against his lips.

“Alpha,” Stiles whines. “So good. Love your fingers in me. So wet for you.”

“Yeah baby, you are.” Derek murmurs, and it’s not his fault when a third finger joins into Stiles’ hole. It’s a tight squeeze now, and Stiles definitely isn’t used to it because he makes this hurt, choke up sound before it dips back to a hoarse sounding groan.

He’s grinding his cock against Stiles’ hip, cock head bumping against the soft pudge of his tummy, already tagging his skin with precome.

Stiles mumbles into a kiss, and Derek must be so gone that he didn’t even catch it.

“What?” He pants, begging for a repeat. He only heard the ending wisps of it, and Derek’s pretty sure that’s not—

“Want you in me a bit,” Stiles pleads urgently, dark eyes fluttering. “Just a bit.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, all foul and tight. “Oh fuck. I can’t—I don’t think I can—”

“Please,” Stiles cries out, bottom lip shaking against Derek’s. His entire body is shaking, probably nearing an orgasm.

Derek drags him into a kiss, long and slow. Just to get Stiles’ breathing steady instead of its fast, hyperventilating pace.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers wetly. “ _Alpha_. Need you.”

“Christ,” Derek curses, slipping his fingers out of Stiles. He uses all that cream on them and lathers up his shaft, spreads it until Stiles’ cunt scent saturates onto his cock. “Got such a mouth on you, don’t you, omega? _Teasing_ me—calling me _Alpha_. You know I’m so weak for you, don’t you?”

Stiles shifts higher, until his head is nestling right against his bed frame. “All for you, Alpha. Don’t you want me?” He looks down where Derek’s cock is jutting out his sweats—a stereotypical knothead. “You want in, don’t you?”

With the slight change of position, now Derek’s cock is nicely angled against Stiles’ cunt, cockhead being tickled by his pubes. He grinds down once, too tempted, moaning against Stiles’ sweaty temple.

When Derek goes to thrust a second time, Stiles arches his hips up and Derek’s cock slides nicely in between his lips—the angle making his cock head catch slightly at Stiles’ hole before it slips away down against his ass cheeks.

“Stiles,” Derek says heatedly.

“Just a bit,” Stiles pleads. “The tip. I’m so close. Please.”

He is weak though so he fists himself, holds there for a second as he catches his own breath. The beginning coils of his knot is already drawing, wanting to swell up and lock in Stiles. Then he shifts closer, Stiles’ legs locking behind him while he dips his cock in between those lips, just teasing for a bit.

Derek draws more of Stiles’ omega cream against his cockhead, spreads it with his fingers.

“C’mon,” Stiles urges impatiently. “Want you in me.”

When Derek pushes in, his shoulders twitching with holding his weight and tongue lolling as all that heat engulfs around his cock. It’s so fucking tight—Stiles definitely isn’t stretched properly, not with just a few minutes of fingering, but he’s opening up slowly. Until the ridge of Derek’s cock pops in, and his entire head is inside Stiles’ cunt.

“ _Fuck_ —” Derek growls, canines dropping and the urge to mount Stiles starts to build like the lighting zings spiking up his spine. “So fucking wet. And hot. I can’t—Stiles. Baby.”

Stiles is moaning brokenly, thighs squeezing tightly around Derek’s hips, his hands are around Derek’s ass—guiding him in further. Pushing him closer. Deeper.

“So close,” Stiles cries, “Rub my clit please.”

Derek tries, the angle they’re in is making it quite tough but he’s going to try. He’s close himself, his balls already tight and drawing up. He pets at Stiles clit, softly at first before circling in furiously as his hips start to make little aborted thrusts. It eggs him on even more when Stiles moans with each lackluster fuck.

He’s not too deep yet—he’s not going to do that. Just the tip. Just a bit.

“ _Derek_ —” Stiles rasps, breathless and chest heaving. “Gonna—”

If he thought Stiles’ cunt was amazing, the feel of him pulsing rhythmically around Derek’s cockhead, all hot and gushing with thick cream gets his knot plumping up in a heartbeat. He quickly pulls out, asshole fluttering and balls tensing, drawing up. Derek fists the knot tightly, hips brutally pistoning against Stiles’ public mound until he comes.

He bites down on Stiles’ shoulder while his jizz fucking soaks all of the omega’s pubes. It drools down to his creamy cunt hole and getting the sheets filthier than they were before.

“ _Fuckkkk_ ,” Derek groans, body twitching with each pulse of come pooling out from his cock hole. He tries to mimic what Stiles did earlier with his fisted hand while Stiles start to catch his breath under him.

When his knot starts to swell down and his lips feeling sore from kissing Stiles for the past ten minutes, Stiles’ looking up at him with a  smug look.

“Made you knot up for me again,” Stiles quips cheekily, grinning.

“Mouthy little shit,” Derek retorts. “You’re gonna make me become a full time knothead.”

“Nah,” Stiles cackles, “You know you won’t.”

“Maybe. You’d never know.” Derek hums, smirking. “You calling me Alpha does help though.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles says fondly, elbows up to kiss Derek softly. “My knothead though.”

Derek smiles softly, “Yeah. All yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hahahaha [weak laughter].
> 
> I know it ended abruptly. I sorry. But it took me like nearly a year to finish this, and I didn't want it back in my drafts again. I may come back around to write a few one shot scenes though! (But, please, don't hold your breath. I'm not too active in writing.)


End file.
